Streets of Fire

Catalog

I’d traveled to the suburban office building to hand-deliver a package. The guy who was to receive it was out at the time, so I left it at the front desk.

Not one to leave a package behind without a note, I asked the the receptionist for a Post-It. Obliging, she tore off a yellow square and slapped it onto the counter. I began to write my note, but the pen seemed to be out of ink. As one does with a pen seemingly on the fritz, I shook it before picking up a second ballpoint. But it, too, seemed to have run dry. I tried a third, but no luck.

As I attempted the classic last-ditch pen tip-lick-then-shake maneuver, the receptionist - a sweet older lady in her 60s or so - handed me a copy of the latest Victoria’s Secret catalog. The cover featured a photograph of a blonde woman in a state of undress that I would describe as extremely to very-extremely attractive with, if I had to guess, huge breasts. Her face was also along the lines of one of the better faces I’ve ever seen. But why a Victoria’s Secret catalog, and why now? Did the receptionist think I was going to wait around for the guy I needed to see, and would need some reading and browsing material? Did she receive an extra copy that she didn’t want? Did she want me to pick something out for her?

Did I appear lonely?

“Oh, thanks,” I said jokingly, ”but I think we already have a copy of that one at home.”

As I started to explain my preference for black lace or reddish hues (though specifically not burgundy), the receptionist, without saying a word, pointed at the Post-It and my pen.

The lingerie catalog worked as a writing pad, though I still prefer it for the pictures.